In the Morning I'll Have To Let You Go
by nicalyse
Summary: If you'd asked him yesterday if he still had any feelings for Quinn Fabray, he would have said no. Now, seeing her standing there, he's not so confident in his answer. How else do you explain how damn nervous he feels right now? One-shot.


**A/N: **This was prompted by Alex on Tumblr. Enjoy, sweets!

* * *

><p>"Will you be the best man at my wedding?"<p>

The question doesn't catch him completely off guard. Mike's known Brittany for what feels like his entire life, so he knows how random she can be, and he knows that she and Santana have finally started planning their wedding. They've been engaged for almost four years, and he really never thought they'd actually tie the knot. He's happy for them, now that they are, but he didn't think he was going to be part of the wedding.

"Sure, Britt," he answers with a chuckle. "But why me?"

"Santana wants to have a maid of honor, so we decided it makes sense for me to have a best man. It has to be you," she says matter-of-factly. "You're still the best guy I know."

She isn't exactly the same as she was in high school, but Mike thinks that there are some things about Brittany that aren't ever going to change. He loves that about her. "Thanks, B."

"We're having our bachelorette party together, so you don't have to worry about planning anything or being there for that," she says. "Unless you want to."

"Uh, no. Thanks." He hasn't had time to consider that being best man meant that he might be expected to plan something like that, but he's relieved to hear that he doesn't. What the hell do you plan for a lesbian bachelorette party for the girl you lost your virginity to when you were fifteen?

"All you're going to have to do is hold on to Santana's ring during the ceremony," Brittany is saying. "Santana's mom is planning everything, so I'll have her email you all the times and places and whatever."

"Okay," Mike says, and he can hear Santana in the background saying something about French toast, and he realizes that Brittany has called him from a restaurant. "Do you need to go?"

Instead of answering him, she orders chocolate chip banana pancakes with whipped cream and a side of bacon, and he pulls a face when she asks if the waiter will bring her strawberry syrup instead of maple. "Hey, I have to go," she says after it's clear that the waiter is gone. Mike just grins to himself. "But we'll talk soon, okay?"

"Okay, Brittany."

She hangs up without actually saying goodbye, leaving Mike smiling and shaking his head. If nothing else, being part of this wedding is bound to be amusing.

* * *

><p>Brittany is waiting for him when he steps off the plane in San Francisco, standing there in a kelly green trench coat and a pair of clear jelly sandals, holding a neon yellow poster board with the words <em>Mike Chang: Best Man<em> drawn on it in glittery bubble letters. She's the first thing that he sees, and he's already laughing when she catches sight of him and calls his name. Her poster slips to the floor when she throws her arms around him, pressing herself against him in a tight hug, one of the full-body embraces that Brittany has always favored. Seriously, he thinks the girl gives the best hugs in the world.

"I've missed you," she murmurs in his ear. The last time they were actually together was three years ago, when they were both back in Lima for Christmas on break from school, and he's missed her, too. This weekend is probably going to make it that much clearer to him.

He holds her at arm's length and takes in her smiling face. "You look really happy, Britt," he says. It's what he sees when he looks at her, more than the way she's French braided the front of her hair back out of her face or the almost (but not quite) too-bright pink lipstick she's wearing. She just looks happier than he's ever seen her.

Her smile widens. "I'm getting married," she says, squeezing his forearms and bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. "I _am_ happy."

He goes along with it when she takes his hand, weaving their fingers together, and starts toward the baggage claim. "So, tell me about this wedding," he requests. He hasn't heard much about it other than that the ceremony is going to be small - the wedding party is just Brittany, Santana, him, and whoever the maid of honor is - and that the whole thing is being done in the banquet hall of the same hotel where he's staying. The girls' parents are paying for the whole thing, including his room for the weekend, even though he'd emailed both Santana's mom and Brittany's dad separately to insist that he could take care of his own room.

"It's really just a big party," Brittany says. "Santana and I will say our vows and you and Quinn will give us rings, and then everyone will be able to dance and eat and get drunk."

She keeps talking, going on about how she and Santana agreed on a red velvet cake from some fancy bakery that is doing a very specific design for them, but Mike is too fixated on something she just said to pay attention. "Wait," he interrupts when she starts talking about fondant. "Quinn?"

"She's Santana's maid of honor," Brittany says with a nod.

He puts his hand on her shoulder and turns her to face him when they stop near the baggage claim belt. "Why didn't you tell me about Quinn?"

She blinks. "I thought you knew."

Mike doesn't bother asking Brittany anything else about Quinn or the wedding, listening with one ear as she tells him more about the cake and her dress and the DJ while he watches for his bag. He's too busy tripping down memory lane to focus on much of what she's saying.

The last time Mike saw Quinn, she was tugging her fingers through her hair, messy from what they'd just done, and telling him that she hadn't changed her mind about their relationship being over at the end of the summer because they were going different places with their lives. It's been years since he's thought about that night, since he's let himself wonder whether things would have been different if he'd admitted that he'd fallen in love with her and tried to convince her to give them a chance.

Knowing that he's going to see her tonight at the rehearsal dinner is a headtrip and a half, and he thinks about it the whole time he's heading to the hotel.

Tina broke up with Mike at the end of spring break his senior year claiming that he deserved to go to college with a clean slate, not thinking about his girlfriend who was still in Nowhere, Ohio in high school. It wasn't that he didn't think it made sense, but that he didn't understand why she was doing it in March instead of waiting till August, when he was actually moving. He's still not sure what that was about.

He's glad she did it when she did though, or else he wouldn't have had the opportunity to get to know Quinn the way that he did.

They'd always sort of been friends. They were in the same classes at school and ran in the same circle of friends, plus glee club, but they weren't ever the sort of friends who really talked or spent time hanging out one-on-one. It started out innocently enough, with them sitting together while they worked in the library during their free period. Then he drove her to and from school for a couple of weeks after she got into a fender bender and her car was being repaired because his house was just a few blocks from hers. Then they were chatting before the classes that they had together and during breaks at glee rehearsals, and they started having conversations via text messages. One day, he realized that in just a couple of months, she'd basically become his best friend, the position that Tina had sort of taken over after Matt moved.

Even though he'd loved Tina, he found that being friends with Quinn was better in a lot of ways.

They were in Los Angeles for Nationals the first time he kissed her. It was the night before the competition, and even though Rachel was insisting on running through the numbers again, Mr. Schue told them all to go upstairs and get a good night's sleep so they'd be ready for the next day. Mike spent an hour lying in the bed he was sharing with Blaine listening to Sam mumbling in his sleep and staring up at the ceiling in the darkness before he decided to get up and go for a walk, hoping to burn off some of the nervous energy that was keeping him awake.

He was surprised to find Quinn sitting in the back of the hotel lobby, wearing a pair of yellow and white striped pajama pants and a gray zippered hoodie, reading the same book she'd been reading when he sat beside her on the flight out.

"Did you know that Sam talks in his sleep?" he asked when he sat beside her on the loveseat, angling his upper body to face hers. It was small enough that the side of his thigh pressed against hers.

She smiled but didn't look up from her book. "I do," she answered, making him wonder if she and Sam ever actually spent the night together. He knew they never had sex - guys talk - but apparently they'd slept together. She closed her book after a minute, setting it in her lap. "Brittany kicks in her sleep."

He knew that, actually, but he kept that bit of knowledge to himself. He didn't know why, exactly, but he didn't want to remind Quinn that he and Brittany had ever been anything other than friends and dance partners.

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" he asked her instead of discussing their roommates any more.

"No." She brushed her hand over the cover of her book. "I don't really get nervous. Not about stuff like this."

Mike was nervous. He wished that he wasn't, but that didn't change the facts. "What does make you nervous?"

Quinn considered the question for a moment. "Getting close to people," she answered, her voice quiet. "Letting people get close to me."

It was heavy, heavier than he was expecting, but he loved that Quinn was being honest with him. He still doesn't know what made him ask, "Do I make you nervous?"

He watched her throat when she swallowed. "Not usually."

He didn't know when their faces got so close or when he put his hand on top of her thigh, but he barely had to move to press his lips to hers gently. It hardly lasted long enough for him to register that her lips were incredibly soft, and then she was pulling back, her hand coming to rest on top of the one he had on her thigh.

"Now I'm a little nervous," she breathed, blinking her pretty eyes at him and making him chuckle.

The truth was, she made him nervous, too.

* * *

><p>Mike's supposed to be listening to what the guy who is performing Brittany and Santana's wedding is saying about the ceremony, but all he can think about is how ridiculous it is that the sight of Quinn standing across from him has his palms sweating like crazy.<p>

He's a twenty-four-year-old man whose job is to perform in front of hundreds - sometimes thousands - of people, and standing across from a girl he dated for less than four months six years ago is making his palms sweat.

No one has ever made Mike as nervous as Quinn Fabray.

It's not like he's spent the last six years thinking about her every day. He's not that pathetic. God, before he met Brittany this morning, he's not sure when he even thought about her last. There have been other girls, of course. He was with Caitlin for over two years, and at one point he thought he might actually wind up marrying her, though that didn't really pan out. And if you'd asked him yesterday if he still had any feelings for Quinn Fabray, he would have said no.

Now, seeing her standing there, he's not so confident in his answer. How else do you explain how damn _nervous_ he feels right now?

The five of them are just standing next to the table in the private room of this Italian restaurant for the rehearsal dinner. As far as Mike can figure, this is just an excuse for all of them to get together and hang out the night before the wedding. It's fine with him. Santana's parents have always liked him, and he's pretty sure that Brittany's mom is the nicest person on the planet. He's also almost positive that he's never seen either Brittany or Santana look happier than they do right now, and it's awesome to see that after everything they've gone through over the years. Their relationship wasn't always the healthiest, but it's nice to see people who love each other get it together.

The summer that Mike and Quinn were together, Brittany and Santana weren't.

He really shouldn't be thinking about that right now.

"And after you've exchanged rings, you'll have your first married kiss," says Chris, the guy who is performing the ceremony. He's a friend of the girls' who got ordained just for this, which Mike thinks is an awesome way to be involved.

Brittany leans forward and pecks Santana's lips quickly, and Mike just hears her whispered, "I can't wait."

There isn't really anything else to say, is there?

Dinner is happy and loud, the kind of meal that you only get when you put together people who have all known one another for a long time with several bottles of wine, and Mike is more than happy to let himself get swept away with all of it. He doesn't get drunk - he nurses one glass of wine all evening, taking two or three sips of water for each one of wine - but it's a lot of fun, talking with everyone and catching up. He's sitting at the table between Brittany and her little sister, Kayla, who had a crush on Mike when she was eight years old that apparently hasn't gone away even now that she's nearly seventeen. Britt's mom has allowed her to have half a glass of wine, which has her doing that thing teenage girls who haven't ever had a lot to drink do, flirting and giggling and imagining that she's more drunk than she is. Mike goes along with it just enough that he isn't leading her on or being inappropriate because Kayla is a sweet kid and totally cracking him up.

Mike breathes a little sigh of relief when she gets up to go to the restroom, but another pretty blonde girl takes the seat before he can even reach for his glass to take a sip of water. It's ridiculous that it makes his heart beat faster.

"Looks like someone has a crush on Mike Chang," Quinn says, leaning close enough that no one else can hear. Her cheeks are a little pink from the wine that she's been drinking; it's a good look on her. Mike just shakes his head. "It's cute."

"It's...something," he finishes lamely.

She smiles, reaching up to push her hair back. It falls forward again immediately, the straight ends brushing against her collarbone. Her expression changes, becomes a little softer, when she says, "It's been years, Mike."

"Yeah." He's aware.

She looks like she wants to say something else, but Santana's mom speaks before Quinn can, telling them to smile for a picture, and then she's pulling Quinn away so she can take pictures of the girls, and Mike doesn't get another chance to talk to her all evening.

When he's sitting alone in his hotel room later that night, he half-expects Quinn to show up at his door to finish the conversation that she started at the restaurant. He knows he's staying here too - Brittany and Santana's families are as well - and she set a precedent for that kind of thing years ago.

There was a party at Finn and Kurt's after graduation where nearly everyone got sloppy drunk and crazy. It was a fitting last hurrah sort of thing, and even if none of the stuff had happened with Quinn afterward, Mike thinks that it would still be one of his favorite high school memories. It was one of those rare parties where there wasn't a bunch of drama or bullshit; he doesn't even remember any of the girls crying. Even the fact that Tina was the sober driver who took him home at the end of the night wasn't weird, though him telling her that he was glad that he would look back on high school and think of her probably should have made it weird.

(Tina had just smiled and kissed his cheek and told him to sleep it off, and he figures now that she probably just chalked it up to drunk talk. He was totally serious though, and not all that drunk.)

He never did ask Quinn what made her come to his house that night. Call him a romantic, but he liked the mystery of it. She sent him a text only about ten minutes after Tina dropped him off, when all he'd managed to do was brush his teeth and drink part of a bottle of water, telling him that she was on his front porch and wanted to talk.

She just smiled at him when he opened the front door, her cheeks a little pink and the thin strap of her dress slipping off her shoulder, and neither of them said anything when he led her upstairs to his room.

"Wait," he'd breathed against her lips when she pulled him with her when she laid back on his bed. "Quinn, wait."

"What?" she asked, toying with the hair just above his ear. It was almost enough to make him forget his question and go back to letting her kiss him senseless. (He didn't have any illusions, even that early on, about who was in control.)

"This isn't because you're drunk?" he managed, pulling away enough to look in her eyes.

"No," she answered seriously. "Mike. No." She glanced down at his lips and slid her hand around to the back of his neck. "It's because of you. Because I want you," she whispered.

That was all he'd needed to hear.

Quinn doesn't show up at Mike's hotel room the night before Brittany and Santana's wedding.

He tells himself that he isn't disappointed.

* * *

><p>Santana's dress is royal blue and Brittany's is lilac, and even though they don't match, they somehow go together. They're both beautiful girls, and it's such a cliché, but he really doesn't think that either of them has ever looked more beautiful. All you can see on their faces is love and happiness, and Mike's really glad that he was able to be a part of this.<p>

Seeing Quinn standing across from him in a dress the color of champagne with her hair swept back from her face isn't a hardship either.

Everyone cheers after the guy who performed the ceremony pronounces them "wife and wife," something that Mike knows Brittany insisted on, and then a glass of champagne is being pushed into Mike's hand and people are pressing against him from every side in an effort to get close enough to the girls to congratulate them.

They don't take formal photos because Brittany thinks that everyone always looks stupid in them. There is a photographer running around taking candids of everyone, so it's not like the girls aren't going to have an album of photos from their wedding to look at later, but it isn't intrusive like it was when Mike's cousin Lynn got married a couple of years back and it took an hour and a half to take all of the posed photos of the wedding party and the families and everyone. Mike thinks that at least part of it is because foregoing formal photos means that the party starts immediately. He doesn't have any complaints about that.

Even though he's in the wedding party, Mike winds up sitting at a table with Finn, Sam, Puck, and Rachel, who are the only other old glee club members that Britt and Santana have kept in touch with. It's amazing how much Mike has lost contact with everyone. He already knew that Rachel was doing the Broadway thing in New York, though learning that she and Puck have been living together since she graduated from NYADA is brand new. Finn is back in Lima helping Burt run the business, which he's expanded in the last few years, and Mike thinks it's great that Finn can have that relationship with his step-dad after growing up without a dad of his own. Sam is working on his master's degree at the University of Kentucky. He's there with his girlfriend, Liza, and when she and Rachel get up to go to the restroom, he confides in the guys that he's planning on proposing to her for her birthday in a couple of weeks.

The best part is that even though Mike legitimately can't remember when he last spent time with these guys, it's just as easy and comfortable as it ever was. Maybe the kids in glee club all started out being from different worlds, but by the time they graduated, they were really close. He always thought it was a little dramatic, comparing them to a family, but seeing how easy it is for them to fall back into the same old habits makes him think that maybe they were right back then.

(Rachel "suggests" to the photographer that he take a photo of all the old glee club members together. It makes Santana roll her eyes, but she smiles and slips her arm around Rachel's waist when they all pose together, and Mike knows that she doesn't hate it at all.)

He's talking to Liza about the company he dances with and what they do when Brittany comes up and sets her hands on his shoulders from behind, prompting him to tip his head back and look at her. "You haven't asked me to dance all night," she says with a pout.

He shoots a grin in Liza's direction and pushes away from the table. The reception has been half catching up with everyone and half getting pulled into silly group dances, almost all of which Brittany has started, but it's his job to give her what she wants today. "Would you like to dance, Britt?" he asks, holding out his hand.

She just laughs, taking his hand and leading him out to the dance floor that's on one end of the room. Puck and Rachel are out there, and Quinn and Finn are swaying in time to the music and laughing about something, plus a bunch of people Mike doesn't know well enough to name.

Brittany wraps both of her arms around his neck, and they start moving together as easily as they always have. "I'm married." She says it like she almost can't believe that it's true.

"You're married," he agrees with a smile. "How does it feel?"

She looks up toward the ceiling like she's considering her answer. "You know when you work really hard for something and it comes out even better than you expected? Like, the first time you make some really hard recipe perfectly? Or nailing a performance that you were afraid was going to be a disaster?" Mike nods, because he knows exactly what she means. "It's like that, but better."

He doesn't say anything because there isn't anything to say to that, opting instead to pull her into a hug during which their feet keep moving in time with the music, even as the song changes to another slow instrumental piece.

She pulls away after a moment and looks up at him seriously. "You need to dance with Quinn."

Mike blinks. "Okay."

She shakes her head at him and pulls away, holding onto his wrist when she moves toward where Finn and Quinn are still dancing. "I want to dance with Finn," she announces without preamble. "Q, Mike will dance with you."

Finn looks confused when Brittany slips her body between his and Quinn's, setting her hands on his shoulders and sort of dancing him away, leaving Mike and Quinn standing there a little awkwardly in the middle of all these dancing couples.

Mike shakes his head a little as he takes Quinn's hand in his, setting the other on her waist over her dress. "She's subtle."

Quinn just smiles, brushing her bangs back out of her eyes before she puts her hand on his shoulder. "She said I make you nervous," she says.

It's crazy how perceptive Brittany is, because he knows that he hasn't ever told her that about Quinn. He's never said that aloud to anyone. It's stupid, when you think about it, that a girl that he's known for this long, a girl who he dated and had sex with and fell asleep beside, can make his hands clammy and his heart beat faster. In fact, he doesn't think that he's ever talked to Brittany about the time when he and Quinn dated, but the girl just seems to _know_ things.

"Brittany says a lot of things," Mike says, neither admitting nor denying the truth of what their friend said, but he thinks that Quinn knows that there's something to it. "You look beautiful today," he tells her. It's absolutely true, but it's also a great way to change the subject.

"Thank you." He feels her fingers move against his shoulder. "Santana said you're living in Los Angeles now."

Mike nods. "I kept ending up out there for jobs, so I just went ahead and bought a place."

"Do you like it?"

"It's okay. I like my house and I love what I do, but I don't think I want to be in LA forever. I miss the seasons," he admits, watching the little smile that crosses her lips. "It's supposed to be cold during Christmas, you know?"

"I do," she chuckles.

"What about you?" he asks. "Brittany - being Brittany - didn't even tell me that you were in the wedding until I got here."

"I'm in New Orleans, actually, working at a public relations firm."

The last Mike knew, Quinn had changed her major from theater to art history. The handful of times that he has let himself think about her in the last few years, he's pictured her working as a docent in some museum somewhere. "How did that happen?"

"It's a long story," she says, rolling her eyes a little.

Mike takes a slow breath. "I'd like to hear it."

"Really?" Mike nods and watches Quinn press her lips together for a moment. "Do you want-"

"Quinn!" Santana, the queen of terrible timing, interrupts, tugging Quinn's hand out of Mike's. "Brittany wants to throw her bouquet, and then we're getting the hell out of here. Let's go."

Quinn shoots Mike an apologetic look over her shoulder but lets Santana pull her over toward the group of girls who has gathered in front of the chair that Brittany is standing on. Finn is beside her with a steadying hand on her waist, laughing at whatever Santana says when she gets over to them. Mike doesn't know where the photographer slunk off to, but he hopes the guy is catching some of this, because the way that Brittany and Santana are looking at each other is really amazing, and they deserve to be able to see it later.

Everyone throws handfuls of iridescent confetti over the girls when they leave, shouting their congratulations and their well wishes. The whole tone in the room changes once they're gone, and while it's definitely not the first time that Mike has been at a party that died when those girls left, it's probably the first time that it makes sense that it happens. All of their out-of-town friends, like Puck and Rachel and Sam and his girl, are the first to go, leaving just after the girls do, followed pretty quickly by the older family members, like Santana's grandmother.

Kayla walks up to Mike just after he's said goodbye to Finn, just barely able to meet his eyes. "Do you wanna dance?"

She's the sweetest kid, and he can't see how it could hurt. "I'd love to."

"I don't really know what I'm doing," she admits when they get to the dance floor, and he can tell by the way she's holding her body that she isn't just saying it.

"I do," Mike assures her, taking her hand and prompting her to put the other on his shoulder. "I'll do all the work. All you have to do is follow along."

Her body relaxes as he starts waltzing her across the floor, and while she might not have known what to do when they started, she's light on her feet and picks it up pretty quickly, not unlike her sister. He dips her as the song ends, which makes her giggle even as she's clutching at his shoulder. "Best dancer partner I've had all night," he tells her, pulling her upright. She shakes her head like she doesn't believe him. "I think your parents are waiting for you," he says, nodding his head at where Mr. and Mrs. Pierce are lingering near the door, chatting with Santana's brother and his wife.

Kayla follows his gaze, glancing at her parents before turning back to Mike. "Thanks for the dance," she says, standing up on her toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek before turning and half-running off the dance floor.

"Her crush is adorable."

Mike turns when he hears Quinn's voice behind him. "It's harmless," he says. "She's sweet."

Quinn nods, a ghost of a smile on her lips when she glances down at the floor between them. "I was going to go get a drink in the hotel bar," she says after a moment. She meets his eyes and asks, "Would you like to join me?"

He tries to ignore the little flutter in his stomach. "That would be great."

Going off alone together after parties was one of Mike's favorite things about that summer in Lima with Quinn, because it was what they did nearly every time. It wasn't a sex thing either, like it might have been with someone else, because neither of them felt like a night out meant that they _had_ to sleep together. It was really, honestly just because they liked each other.

Looking back, Mike thinks those were the nights when he really started to fall in love with her.

Quinn doesn't really say much until they're sitting at a table near the back of the bar and they both have drinks (a vodka martini with a twist for her and a scotch neat for him because it's just that kind of night). "I've been trying to talk to you all weekend," she admits quietly. He doesn't know what to say, so he takes a little sip of his drink. "We kept getting interrupted."

It feels like she's saying more than she's saying, but he's been guilty of reading too much into things before. This is just a drink with an old friend, nothing more. "I think you were going to tell me how you ended up in public relations in New Orleans," he says, remembering their conversation from earlier. "Last I knew, you were getting a degree in art history."

"I did," she says, tracing her finger along the rim of her glass. "And I loved it. But it turns out that there isn't a lot to do with an art history degree if you actually want to make enough money to support yourself."

"And New Orleans?"

He listens to her talk about going to Mardi Gras with her roommates and falling in love with the city, and he tells her a little about living in New York before he moved out to California. Six years isn't really that long, but a lot has happened to each of them in those years, so there's a lot to say.

Quinn has changed. Rather, she's grown up, though there are things that he can see are exactly the same, like the way her nose crinkles just a tiny bit when she laughs and how it sounds when she says his name. He knows that he's changed too, but he doesn't think for the worst. If neither of them had changed at all in six years - six years during which they went to college and moved across the country and started living on their own - there would be something wrong. Sometimes though, he knows, the person that you become doesn't feel the same way about the people you knew when you were eighteen as you did back then. There are guys he hung out with in college that he knows he wouldn't be able to tolerate now.

He can't decide if it's good or bad that that doesn't seem to be the case with Quinn.

He watches her take the last sip of her martini and set her glass down gently on the table before looking over at him. "You know," she begins softly, "I didn't realize how much I missed you until I saw you here."

That fluttering in his stomach, which had calmed down, starts up again

"It's silly," she says, looking down at the table in front of her.

"It's not," Mike says. She looks up and meets his eyes. "I felt the same way."

"Really?" He nods. "Can I tell you something?" He nods again. "Even after all this time, I think you're still the best boyfriend I've ever had."

"Yeah?" he laughs. It's more a nervous gesture than one of amusement, but he doesn't think Quinn can tell. "That's kind of crazy, Quinn."

"Isn't it?" She shakes her head a little. "You can't be the only good one out there, right?"

"If I was that good, I would already be married," he points out, tipping back the last sip of his scotch.

She shakes her head. "You just haven't found a girl who's good enough for you."

He scoffs and considers motioning for the waiter so he can order another drink, except it's late enough that he's counting down the seconds until Quinn excuses herself to go upstairs, and he doesn't want to be sitting here drinking alone.

"Do you think we'd be married now if we'd stayed together?" she asks. She's watching him closely when he looks up.

"Quinn." He can't answer this question, not only because he doesn't know, but because he'll drive himself crazy thinking about a what if like that.

"It's not something that I think about all the time," she says, not quite meeting his eyes. "Just...every once in a while." She's quiet for a moment, and Mike just lets the silence hang there between them. She looks him straight in the eye when she says, "I really loved being with you."

"I was falling in love with you, Quinn."

He doesn't feel nervous at all when he says it. His palms are dry and his stomach is calm, and he doesn't even feel the urge to tap his toe inside his shoe the way he sometimes does. It's just a fact, something that he feels like she needs to know right now.

He can hear how shaky the breath she draws in is. "Stay with me tonight. Please?"

It isn't the first time that she's said that to him. He remembers the first time, when he took her home after a party and they lay in her bed watching this really sad movie about two musicians who meet and fall in love, but go their separate ways at the end.

"I should go," he'd said when the credits started rolling, but Quinn had just stayed where she was, pressed up against him with her head resting on his chest.

"Stay with me tonight," she'd said quietly, curling her fingers into the front of his tee shirt. "Please?"

"Okay, Quinn," he'd said, reaching for the remote to flick off the television while she pulled the duvet further up over the two of them. She was asleep so quickly that he'd been surprised that she stayed awake through the whole movie.

Tonight, he takes in the delicate line of her collarbone, exposed by the neckline of her dress and the way her hair is swept up at the nape of her neck. He sees the way that she's gripping the edge of the table, like she's holding herself in place. He sees the look in her eyes, how she's a little scared and unsure, like it might hurt her feelings if he tells her no.

He can't tell her no.

He doesn't want to tell her no.

"Okay, Quinn," he says.

She slips her hand into his when they're waiting for the elevator in the lobby, and he swears that his heart takes an extra beat when he glances down and sees the way that she's looking up at him.


End file.
